


Matt/Frank 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge

by Anankhe



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel (Comics), Punisher (Comics)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Anal Sex, Bondage, Choking, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, PWP, Size Kink, Teasing, a dash of angst, badly written sex, breath play, breath play gone wrong, shameless porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anankhe/pseuds/Anankhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ChasingRiver’s 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge<br/>Day 1: Anal sex (with a healthy dose of size kink for good measure)<br/>Day 2: Awkward sex/things that don't go as planned<br/>Day 3: Body fluids<br/>Day 4: Bondage<br/>Day 5: Breath play</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Anal sex

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a fill for the daredevil kinkmeme prompt: "Give me some Frank throwing Matt around, picking him up to impale Matt onto his cock, just anything that illustrates how much bigger Frank is." on this link: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=4135886#cmt4135886
> 
> I've decided to make it part of a bigger series, since it fits the anal sex prompt nicely and you guys at the kinkmeme seemed to like it ;)

Matt grunts as a particularly rough thrust pushes him _up_ and against the wall. He pushes against it, hands flat against the peeling paint, but the man behind him is large and unmovable and the one thing his efforts earn him is a huge hand closing around one of his wrists and twisting his arm behind his back. He bites his lip and struggles against the hold, if only because the strain on his muscles is in equal measures painful and delicious, and gasps when Frank responds by pulling him back against the next thrust.  
  
Up and against the wall, but mostly _up_ , and he chokes back a cry when the next thrust nearly lifts him off the ground and _Christ_... Castle is so much taller than him, and Matt would be mad at him for not even making an effort to _bend his fucking knees_ , except he actually _likes_ it this way... so he stands on the tips of his toes as the man fucks into him, driving into him slowly but relentlessly, a sharp twist to his hips on every thrust with just enough force behind it to keep Matt rocking on the balls of his feet.  
  
It's glorious, and if Matt weren't blind he'd probably be seeing stars. It's good, _so good_ and just what he needs and almost _too much_ , and he wants it to be, _God_ , but it's also _too fucking slow_.  
  
And when a small frustrated whimper slips unbidden from between his lips Matt quickly covers it up by growling loudly and pushing back on the next thrust. Because he has the self-preservation instincts of a lemming.  
  
“That the best you got, Frank?” he taunts breathlessly, because he wants – _needs_ \- to go faster, but he's never begged Frank Castle for anything, and he's not starting now. Not when taunting has proven to work just fine in the past.  
  
And Frank chuckles, because he knows – of course he does, the smug bastard – what Matt is doing, but Matt is beyond caring. Say what you will about his questionable and completely transparent tactics, at least they're effective.  
  
“You know it's not, Murdock,” Frank retorts almost mockingly, but deciding to humor him as he releases Matt's arm.  
  
And yeah, that's... yeah. He knows it's not. So Matt braces himself against the wall and holds his breath expectantly as Frank's hands wrap themselves around his hips.  
  
And Matt knows a thing or twenty about poor life choices – it kind of comes with the line of work -, so he knows he'll probably regret this in the morning. But, right now? Right now his common sense seems to have decided to elope with his ability to regret things, so there's nothing to stop him from enjoying the ride.  
  
Now, Matt is not a exactly small man, but Frank Castle... Castle is _huge_. Not just tall enough to tower over him, but _built_ and strong enough to lift him almost effortlessly off the ground - which he does, like Matt weights _nothing_ \- and Matt... Matt gulps and takes a deep breath.  
  
His toes were barely touching the floor as it was, holding but a fraction of his weight, but now... now there's nothing but the wall he can hold on to, and nothing other than Frank's huge hands and his cock keeping him in place. The mere thought is so obscene Matt has to bite his lip to hold back a whimper, because his own cock is definitely very interested in this turn of events.  
  
And Frank, asshole that he is, doesn't give him a warning before he's resumes pounding into him, holding Matt's hips away from the wall, but leaning far enough over his back that Matt has no choice but to arch against it anyway. And Matt gasps loudly, fingers scrabbling desperately against the rough but tragically flat surface, searching for purchase he knows he will not find and... yeah, he's definitely going to regret this in the morning. But right now he's too busy holding on to his last shreds of coherency to care.  
  
It's hot and fast and loud and _deep_ – so deep, _Jesus_ , Matt swears he can almost taste it in the back of his throat - and he positively _writhes_ with every thrust, Frank pulling him up his cock, repeatedly, and letting gravity do the rest of the job. Matt's forearms will sport the scrapes for the next couple of weeks, but the pain barely registers because one moment he's _almost there_ and the next he's tumbling violently off the edge, his cock completely untouched, coming undone in a mess of shaky limbs and broken moans.  
  
And Frank, he fucks him through his orgasm until Matt's completely spent and just on the wrong side of oversensitive. And Matt just whimpers through it and sighs in relief once Frank finally comes inside him with a low grunt against his ear.  
  
Matt slumps against the wall once Frank pulls out and begins to slide down because someone clearly thought it would be a brilliant idea to replace his legs with spaghetti. But then Frank's hands are back, sliding under his knees and behind his back and Matt is suddenly _floating_. He giggles in a completely undignified way, which he'll totally deny in the morning because – _don't listen to Foggy, he lies_ \- Matt doesn't _giggle_.  
  
But right now he's floating and it feels amazing, and it's so nice of Frank to carry him to his bed, because there's no way he could've made it all the way on his own. And he must've said that out loud, because Frank is grunting and arguing that he's _not nice, Murdock_ , which, _excuse me, all evidence points to the contrary, your honor_. But he _does not giggle_ and decides to keep that to himself, because Frank is nice, but he's not _that_ nice, and he probably would've dropped Matt on the floor if he hadn't.  
  
“I still might, Murdock.”  
  
“You won't,” Matt denies cheerfully, even though he's not sure. And whoops, that probably sounds too much like a challenge, but his brain-to-mouth filter seems to have vanished as well, so what can he do.  
  
The powers that be must be on his side, though, or maybe Frank is in a good mood – which, _duh, mind-blowing sex_ -, because he just chuckles lowly and deposits him almost gently on his bed.  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Murdock.”  
  
“I didn't say anything,” he retorts sleepily, though he's not sure about that either, and Frank must find it funny because Matt can hear the muscles of his face tense into a smile.  
  
Matt stretches on his back, groaning softly at the pleasant, satisfying pull of well-used muscles, and he's not surprised when he hears the larger man walking towards the door. It's part of their routine by now, and it's not like Matt _minds_ , it's just... it's just that _routine is so boring, you know_ , he tells himself.  
  
“Stay?” Matt doesn't recall thinking about it, much less opening his mouth to make the request, but it must've been him who said it because that definitely sounded like his voice.  
  
He closes his eyes as he waits for an answer, not really expecting one, and he's half asleep by the time he hears Frank move away from the doorway, just moments before the mattress dips behind him. And then a strong arm is draped carelessly around his waist, and a hard, chiseled chest is molding itself to his back, and Matt curls up and presses back against it happily because it makes him feel small an vulnerable, but also impossibly _warm_. And Frank's heartbeat is low and steady and rolls like thunder, and Matt struggles to stay awake just a minute longer so he can enjoy it, because he knows he won't get another chance to anytime soon, and also because it's just so _nice_.  
  
But he's also completely exhausted, which is a damn shame, and only manages to stay awake long enough to hear the words whispered in a surprisingly soft tone that makes him smile, yet which he won't remember in the morning.  
  
“Don't get used to it.”


	2. Day 2: Awkward sex / things that don’t go as planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No actual porn in this one, just a small little drabble this time. Next one will be dirty, I promise ;)

_What could possibly go wrong_ , Matt decides, are terrible words to jinx what could've been a great night of delicious, steamy, positively dirty sex. 

The answer to them is, apparently, _a whole fucking lot._

Not that he's superstitious, or anything. But it seems preferable to blame a sudden bout of bad luck for their current predicament rather than, say, his clumsiness and lack of foresight. His companion would probably disagree - _loudly_ \- if he weren't coughing up a lungful of icy water. 

“N-n-n-not a wo-word,” he warns Frank, teeth chattering, taking his shirt off as he climbs out of the Hudson and twisting the excess water out of it, grateful for both the darkness and the lack of credible eyewitnesses within a half mile radius.


	3. Body Fluids

Sex with Frank Castle, Matt discovers with no surprise, is usually a pretty intense affair.

Intense like the man itself, coarse and unrefined, but all the more satisfying because of it. 

A bit violent, sometimes, when adrenaline still rushes through their veins after a mission and the inevitable argument that follows. Hard and fast, their motions driven by instinct more than intent, by an almost desperate need that takes their breath away and leaves them gasping for air. Kind of overwhelming, _always_ , even when they take it slow, the gap between their mouths small so they can breathe in the other's grunts and silent moans, their hips rolling leisurely against each other, fingers digging into hard muscle, grasping for purchase on sweaty skin. 

None of that is extremely surprising. The man fucks as intensely as he does pretty much everything else in life. 

What catches Matt off-guard is that he never expected sex with Frank to be so... so...

_So dirty._

Hot and sweaty, yes. That's kind of inevitable. But the man has a kinky streak a mile long and an oral fixation to match, and making Matt orgasm is just another excuse to put his mouth all over him.

He runs his fingers through the come on Matt's stomach after fucking him into the mattress, spreading it carefully like he's painting a picture on his skin. Matt holds his breath and bites down hard on his lip as he feels the ghost of Frank's breath on his lower stomach. He gets no further warning before a hot tongue is running over his over-sensitized skin, tearing a gasp from his lips. 

“Frank...”

It's both delicious and agonizing, and his abdomen tenses with the effort to remain still. Frank is extremely thorough, leaving no inch within reach untouched before moving on to his next target. Matt's hands fist in the bedsheets and he focuses on breathing deeply in preparation of what's to come. 

At the first touch of the man's tongue on his soft cock, Matt's back arches off the bed. He whimpers and grits his teeth, fighting back the instinct to get away from _too much, too soon_ , because as much as he hates this, he _loves_ it, and he knows it would only take a single well-chosen word to make Frank stop.

“Let me hear you sing, Choirboy,” Frank teases, smiling against his cock, and even his breath feels like a shock of electricity on Matt's skin. 

Matt whines loudly and tries to squirm away from him, but Frank is stronger and holds his hips in place easily as he licks Matt's cock clean. 

“Frank, please... please,” Matt begs, kicking at the mattress and positively writhing under Frank's skilled tongue. “Stop... I can't-”

And Frank takes his time, running his tongue from the base of Matt's spent cock to the tip over and over again, encouraged by Matt's pleas. He swirls his tongue around the head, and Matt's fingers tangle in his hair and pull hard, but that doesn't stop him from wrapping his lips around the redhead's cock and sucking softly before pulling away. 

“Oh, God,” Matt sobs, shaking violently and curling in on himself as soon as Frank lets go of his hips. He wants to kick the smug grin – he knows it's there, he can fucking hear it - off the larger man's face, but his legs refuse to obey. 

“Language,” Frank chastises, licking his lips slowly and moaning softly like they're covered in honey instead of Matt's come. 

“Fuck you,” Matt mumbles, closing his eyes and burying his head in the soft pillow. 

“Maybe later. I'm not done cleaning you yet” Frank replies huskily, leaning down to press a kiss to his hip. 

Matt groans. 

“Fuck no... I really don't think I can take that right now,” he pleads, leaning away from the touch. “Overstimulation is even worse with heightened senses. I swear I could count your taste buds on my cock.”

He hears Frank's smile widen as he leans over to whisper into his ear.

“I'll let you return the favor later,” he offers temptingly, voice thick and rough and Matt groans as his cock gives a small twitch. He only needs a second to consider the offer.

“Promise?” 

He barely waits for Frank's affirmative before rolling over onto his stomach and lifting his ass in the air.


	4. Day 4: Bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt figures out a way to make Frank relax and let him do the hard work, for once ;D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, life has been pretty busy. Just a heads up to you guys, updates will probably be irregular from now on, but still pretty frequent :)

“Untie me right now, Murdock.”

That's how you knew Frank was serious. Not the use of his last name instead of the usual teasing _Choirboy_ , but the terse tone of his voice, almost too sweet, soft but dangerous like velvet wrapped around a sharp knife. Not the commanding voice. The commanding voice is reserved for the easily intimidated, strong and firm, unmovable like the man himself, a threat subtly hidden in every sentence. That voice is useless on Matt, on a Man without Fear, who cares as much for Frank's usual intimidation tactics as he does for silent films. No, _this_ voice Frank reserves for Matt and Matt alone, no threats but always _a promise_ in every word.

Matt has to admit it makes him feel kind of special, even if it is not very effective in accomplishing its intended goal. It cuts deep but painless, it gets under his skin and makes him shiver and... okay, maybe it does put him a bit on edge – he's fearless, not dumb; he knows what Frank is capable of, he knows what he's _willing_ of – it makes him tremble and makes his hair stand on end. 

But mostly it just makes him really fucking hard, to be perfectly honest.

“I don't think I will, Frank,” he says as calmly as he can, the tone - a perfect mix of patronizing and reasonable optimized to annoy the fuck out of the most patient of men - polished over years of experience in court to goad and incense with as little effort required as possible. 

Frank here is not particularly known for being patient. It feels, Matt likes to think, kind of like what he imagines poking a tiger with a toothpick would feel like. 

“I mean it, Murdock,” he says, and Matt can hear his triceps bulging out as he pulls on the ropes binding his arms to the bedposts, the fibers of his muscles pulled tight like violin strings. “If they manage to get away -”

“They're hardly a threat,” Matt interrupts with the vocal equivalent of an eye-roll, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to the bed Frank is tied up to. 

It was a major challenge, taking Frank out and carrying him to one of the man's own safe-houses. It was even harder to tie him up when the man regained consciousness in the middle of the process, but Matt is creative. He's always been good at improvising, and even better at tying knots. Frank won't be freeing himself any time soon. 

For certain values of _soon_ , at any rate. 

“They're criminals! They -”

“Won't even know what hit them. Peter's after them and we both know he's more than capable of dealing with a bunch of drug dealers on his own,” Matt insists, pulling off his cowl and taking off his gloves. “This is _barely_ even a one-man job, hardly something that requires _all three of us_ to take care of.”

He can tell his calmness is pissing Frank off, which is counter-productive for his plans but also fun. 

“And then what? He'll take them to the _police?_ ” Frank scoffs, renewing his struggle against his bonds. 

“Yes,” Matt answers honestly. “To be tried and judged for their acts, as the law states.”

Frank closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, slowly, in such a way that Matt knows, were his hands not tied, he'd be pinching the bridge of his nose. He's probably counting to ten in his head. 

“They'll be back in the streets in _days_. Weeks, if we're lucky. Untie me, Murdock,” Frank insists after a pause. “I will _not_ repeat myself again.”

Matt cocks his head to the side and sits down on the edge of the bed, his thigh pressing against Frank's ribs. He listens closely, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards as he detects no lie in Frank's voice. Frank is serious, which means he has to act fast. The rope is strong, but Matt wouldn't put it past Frank to have a couple of tricks up his sleeve tailored for situations such as this one. It only makes things more interesting. 

“Good,” he says, deciding to move along with the plan. “Then we can archive this discussion and get on to business,” he slides his hand up Frank's chest, unashamedly groping and feeling out his defined muscles. 

Matt mentally awards himself some points when he notices this takes Frank by surprise.

“Oh, you gotta be _kidding me_ ,” the man murmurs exasperatedly to himself, but he cannot hide the spike in his heartbeat from Matt. He tilts his head back to get away from the redhead's touch as Matt slides his hand up to Frank's neck, but that only gives him a larger expanse of skin to explore. “I don't have the time for this -”

Matt smiles and pitches his voice low. 

“On the contrary, we have plenty of time. With Spider-man dealing with the dealers, it looks like our agenda for tonight has been cleared,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips along Frank's neck. He can smell the man's interest, feel the muscles relaxing under his hand as the man realizes his mission is a lost cause. 

“Will you at least untie me if I promise not to go after them tonight?” Frank asks, ceasing his struggle as if anticipating his release on grounds of good behavior.

Which... okay, is not really something Matt planned out in detail. Nor coarsely. He knows he has to tread carefully, though, so he hides his smirk as he leans back, pursing his lips as he pretends to consider the deal. 

“Hmmm...” he murmurs, tracing Frank's jaw lightly with his index finger, trying not to dwell on the way Frank leans into his touch just slightly or how his lips part to release a silent breath. “I don't think so... I have other plans for tonight.”

And just like that Frank tenses up once again. His outrage is almost palpable, Matt's last words going unregistered as his brain chooses to focus on the negative to his request. 

“For God's sake, Murdock, I'm not lying,” Frank's dangerous growl makes Matt shiver, and just like that he knows he is in trouble because Frank's voice does _things_ to him when it sounds like that. Matt's pants are suddenly too tight and constraining, so he shifts slightly to ease the pressure on his cock as discreetly as he can. “I promise, okay? We both know I cannot lie to you. I know better than to even try,” he adds, murmuring that last bit as if to himself. 

Matt smiles and tries not to let the hurt show through at the implication that Frank _would_ lie to him if he thought he could get away with it. 

“I know, I believe you,” he says, idly flicking Frank's nipple in silent retaliation and grinning in honest delight at the muted hiss the action earns him. “I just think it would be a terrible waste of rope to cut you free so soon. I'll have you know it is _silk_. And all the effort I put into tying you up...” he pauses, tracing his finger down the center of Frank's chest. “You made it really _hard_ with all that _squirming_ , Frank,” he finishes, deliberately making his voice thick and husky, and he's pretty pleased with the way it comes out. Way better than expected, he thinks proudly. Eight point five out of ten, would definitely try again. 

Which is why he almost rolls his eyes in frustration when his blatant flirting is ruthlessly ignored.

“Oh, excuse me. Were you expecting me to cooperate with that?” Frank growls, actually irritated at him and pulling on the ropes, which is exactly the opposite of what Matt wants. “My bad. I'll be sure to help out next time. Maybe even grow a third arm or something so I can tie myself up -”

“Alright, alright. Sorry about that,” he says in what has got to be the least apologetic tone ever achieved by a human being. It's not like Frank cares for apologies anyway. Too practical for that. “It was completely necessary, though. Can you honestly tell me we wouldn't still be fighting over how to deal with those men? I don't know about you, but I can think of at least a dozen other ways I'd rather spend my free night. More than that, if we get _creative_ ,” he says suggestively, running his finger down the trail of coarse hair that begins at Frank's navel all the way down to the waistband of his jeans. “Now would you please relax? You're too tense for this.”

“No shit, Choirboy. I wonder why that is,” Frank says moodily, pointlessly glaring at him. “You attack me when my back is turned and I wake up half tied to my own fucking bed. I'd love to see how relaxed you'd be in my shoes, you fucking asshole...” he grumbles but Matt can tell it's mostly for show, Frank's voice exasperated but oddly fond as he allows himself to relax, his is arms falling limply on either side of his head.

Good. Great, even. If he's honest with himself, Matt was expecting Frank to put up more of a fight against remaining tied up. He runs his hand down Frank's ribs, and marvels at how Frank seems to melt under his touch instead.

“What's the big idea, anyway? Why tie me up? Not that I mind,” he says, and Matt can feel the weight of his questioning stare even as Frank arches up against his hand. “But I didn't think you were into this.”

“I'm not. Not usually,” he admits, focusing on Frank's reactions as he leans down to kiss the man's neck. “But I've noticed you've been awfully tense lately, and I thought you would enjoy lying back and letting me do most of the work for once.”

“You don't need to keep me bound for that. I'm perfectly capable of-”

 _Yeah... no_.

“You're really not, Frank,” he slides his hand up and tangles his fingers in Frank's short hair. He grips it firmly and pulls Frank's head back sharply. The groan this earns him makes his cock throb painfully. “You need to be in control, _constantly_ ,” he murmurs against the skin of Frank's neck. His pulse throbs strong against Matt's lips, and when he inhales he can smell Frank's arousal. He can taste it heavy on the back of his tongue, familiar and intoxicating. He could easily get addicted to it, if he isn't already. “Even when you fuck me you're always in control, every move precise, carefully planned, deliberate...” 

“I've yet to hear you complain, Choirboy,” Frank says in a perfectly even tone, despite his accelerated heartbeat.

Matt smiles.

“Not complaining. It just seems like a pity that you don't know how good it can feel to really let go,” Matt corrects him in complete honesty, getting on the bed and straddling Frank's hips in one smooth motion. “When was the last time you stopped thinking before you acted? The last time you let instinct guide you and just... _felt?_ ” he asks, punctuating the last word by grinding down hard against Frank's cock. 

“ _Shit_...”

The word is barely a whisper, but it's simply one of the most arousing sounds Matt has heard in his life. So he bites his lip and does it again, groaning as he feels Frank's cock throbbing even through several layers of clothing.

“I want to know what it feels like to make you lose control,” he continues, breathing the words out next to Frank's ear as if revealing a secret. He licks down the column of his neck, biting down on the thick muscle where it meets the shoulder. He listens carefully for any changes in his pulse or his breathing, letting Frank's reactions guide him. When he speaks next his voice is huskier than he'd anticipated. “I want you to stop thinking. I want to know what you sound like when there's nothing else in your mind but the pleasure I'm giving you.”

Frank groans loudly.

“Are you gonna fuck me, Choirboy?” There's curiosity there. Genuine curiosity, which Matt would not have expected, but it's definitely a pleasant surprise. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks curiously, wondering why they'd never tried that before. It doesn't seem all that surprising, now that he thinks about it, that Frank does not seem opposed to the idea. “To be honest I hadn't really planned beyond the tying you up part, but I could do that,” he says casually, paying close attention and cataloging Frank's reactions to his words. “I could fuck you as hard and fast as you wanted... or I could take my time with you and keep you on the edge the whole night...” 

Frank's heartbeat spikes, and when he speaks his voice is just slightly unsteady.

“Can't say I would mind either way,” he rasps out, and the words go straight down to Matt's cock. He wants it, _God_ , he wants it like _burning_ , and there's definitely some interest there. But they can do a bit better than that and he reminds himself that tonight is about Frank. 

They'll have time to explore the possibilities later.

“Or maybe,” he goes on, sliding his hands up Frank's arms, “maybe I could ride you hard, show you exactly how much I love having your cock in my ass,” he says, and smiles when Frank tenses up in anticipation, his breath catching in his throat. _Bingo_. “Would you like that? Me fucking myself on your cock? _Using_ you, and coming all over your stomach?”

Frank just growls and tosses his head back against the mattress.

“Are we doing this tonight, Choirboy, or are you waiting for an invitation?”

Matt rakes his nails along Frank's arms and down his chest in reply, taking pleasure in the muffled curse and shiver that runs down the man's spine. 

“By the time I'm done with you, you won't remember your own name,” he vows, pressing a kiss to Frank's cheek just because he can. 

“Just get on with it, Murdock,” Frank retorts breathlessly. 

Matt chuckles, grinning against Frank's skin as he trails soft kisses down his jaw. 

“Patience is a virtue,” he says despite – or perhaps because of – how cliché it is. He just cannot help himself.

“Too bad I'm not a virtuous man,” Frank retorts, bucking up against him impatiently, and somehow it's the most amusing thing Matt has heard in a while. 

“Yeah,” he grins teasingly, his voice promising glorious, terrible things. “Too bad.”


	5. Breath play (gone wrong)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not any actual porn this time, and probably more angsty than any answer to a porn challenge should be. In the spirit of keeping things original and interesting, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I guess this chapter could be triggery for some people. There's talk of breath play gone wrong, so consider yourselves warned.

It takes Matt's brain a moment to catch up with the situation.

He wakes up violently, disoriented, his lungs burning like someone tried to light fireworks inside them. His mouth falls open, desperately gasping for air that never seems to reach his overfilled lungs because he cannot stop inhaling long enough to empty them. And it hurts, it hurts, it _hurts_ , and he needs more, but there's too much, and he keeps on breathing but it's not making things any better. It's making things worse.

“ _Slow down_ , Murdock,” he hears Frank whisper urgently in his ear, like he's repeated it at least half a dozen times. And he tries, God, _he tries_. But his body is intent on stubbornly overriding his brain, and every exhale that he manages feels like his chest is going to implode. “You got this, come on...”

He wants to argue, he _definitely_ hasn't _got this_. God, please help him. He's trying, but his body is not cooperating. He's panicking, he knows, but it's hard to calm down when his own gasps and his blood rushing loudly in his ears make it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

But there are hands on his chest, warm, steady. Grounding. Touch is the one thing he has left, so he focuses on it. He grasps one of Frank's hands desperately, receiving a reassuring squeeze in return, and traces the other up to the larger man's shoulder, up his neck, to cup his face. He stares unseeingly up at him for what feels like forever as he struggles to ignore his need for oxygen and forces his diaphragm to slow down. 

It's slow, but it works. It takes a couple of minutes – an eternity, years spent under water trying desperately to break the surface, years of keeping the burning pressure from collapsing his chest – but eventually he manages to slow down his breathing to a moderate pace. Slow and deep. _Slow_. 

Now there's an experience he's not looking forward to repeating any time soon. 

What the hell happened? What -

“What...” he tries to ask, but only a croak comes out. The inside of his throat feels like it's been used as a pincushion. Like he swallowed a fucking cheese grater.

“I swear to God, Murdock, if you pull something like that on me again...”

Frank's tone sounds all wrong, and there's a loud drumming in his ears drowning out all else. His cheek stings like he's been slapped. Repeatedly.

“Nevermind, there will _not_ be a next time. Fuck, what were you thinking?”

What was he thinking? It would be easier to answer that question if he remembered what happened, but the drumming in his head is giving him a headache that makes it hard to concentrate. What were they doing? Well, they're both naked in what feels and smells like Matt's bed, so three guesses as to what the answer to _that_ question is. Not hard to figure out, even without the stickiness on his stomach or the stretched out feeling in his ass. Which does not explain him passing out or the burning in his...

Oh. _Oh._ Well, shit. The memories are slow to come, dripping in like the sand trickling down in an hourglass, but they put this whole situation into a new perspective. 

He really fucked up.

“I'd appreciate it if you kept me out of your plans to off yourself next time,” Frank growls, but there's more fear and self-deprecation in his words than any real anger towards Matt. They somehow hurt all the more because of that. 

“I wasn't trying to kill myself,” he croaks out tiredly, rubbing his face with both hands. How did that even happen? He had it under control, he was enjoying himself, he cannot remember it going _that_ far...

Frank remains characteristically quiet, so all Matt can hear is the loud drumming. It feels like a kick in the gut when he realizes it's Frank usually steady heartbeat, marching in double time, and so, _so loud_.

Matt doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. The silence sits heavy on his chest, and it's like he cannot breathe all over again. It's a relief when Frank speaks once more, even if it's barely a whisper.

“You didn't even struggle,” he explains. “You were supposed to tap out, but you didn't. Jesus, _I didn't even notice_ ,” he growls angrily, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Matt wants to reach out, but he's not certain Frank won't push him away. “If you weren't trying to kill yourself, what happened?”

Matt wishes he had an answer for that.

“I don't know,” he admits. 

Frank nods, like part of him was expecting that answer. Like he doesn't want to believe it, but does. Because if Matt were trying to kill himself that would at least make what happened _Matt's_ fault. It would make Frank the victim, the unwilling weapon in a messed up suicide. He wouldn't have to blame himself then, like he's clearly doing right now. 

As if that wasn't bad enough Matt can smell his own come on his chest when he inhales, and it makes him sick. Only a sick person could enjoy doing this to their... whatever, right?

“I'm sorry,” he offers, and he wants to die a little bit. He wants to make it better. He doesn't think he can. “It was _my_ responsibility to put a stop to it, and I didn't. It wasn't your fault.”

He'd have better luck talking to a wall. He reaches out to place a hand on Frank's arm. He's not pushed away, but he's not acknowledged in any way either.

“You had no way to know-”

“I _should've_ noticed, Murdock,” Frank argues, running his fingers through his hair. For all that it was Matt who just had a near-death experience, he wonders if it wasn't Frank who was hurt the worst. 

“You trusted me to warn you before it got too far. It's not your fault I fucked up,” Matt insists. He tentatively moves his hand down Frank's arm to hold his hand, but Frank jerks away like it burns. Matt doesn't react, tries to pretend it doesn't make him want to puke his guts out. “You couldn't have known-”

“You stopped moving,” Frank rasps out, and his voice is as shaky as Matt's ever heard it. “Even when I let go, you weren't breathing.”

The revelation is not as shocking as Matt knows it should've been. He wonders what is wrong with him, that he cannot muster up the effort to care. That he's more worried about Frank's state of mind than his own physical well-being. 

He's startled by Frank standing up and moving to pick up his clothes. Matt's throat closes up and his eyes burn, but he cannot bring himself to make a move to stop him. 

“We're not doing this again. Clearly _neither of us_ knows your limits,” Frank's words are final. Matt wants to argue, but he bites his tongue against it. He wonders if Frank's talking just about the choking part or hooking up in general, but he's not sure he wants to hear the answer. 

So he just nods and lies back down on the bed, eyes closed against the itch as he waits for Frank to finish dressing up and leave.


End file.
